


Change the Subject

by Schadenfreuder



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - Fandom, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Cute Ending, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Fear Boner, Fluffy Ending, Food, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentioned Pedophilia, Mind Control, Past Relationship(s), Roleplay, Sexual Coercion, Swearing, Table Sex, Tea, dubcon, fear kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 12:19:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17601257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schadenfreuder/pseuds/Schadenfreuder
Summary: Jonathan Crane decides to undergo a stark makeover to keep himself hidden. It attracts the attention of the Mad Hatter.





	Change the Subject

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses. The Hattercrow tag was stale and I craved new content, so as they say, if you want something done, you've got to do it yourself. So I did. Enjoy! Feedback appreciated.

It was time for change.

He stood over the sink of the dingy motel bathroom, face twisted in disgust as he ran gloved fingers through his hair. The dizzying stench of chemicals made his eyes water. The damned place didn't even have an air vent, so there was no escape from the scent of bleach.

The ex-convict had the TV turned on to the news, the volume up. Gotham News 5 was reporting live from the massive breakout at Arkham Asylum. The police and officials were struggling to clean up the scene. They still hadn't found most of the prisoners that escaped, the reporter was saying, which was a dangerous group consisting of the deranged Two-Face, the monstrous Killer Croc, the deadly Poison Ivy, former psychiatrist Harleen Quinzel, the former Gotham University professor Jonathan Crane, and Gotham City's most feared lunatic, the Joker.

Honestly? He had to pause and squint at the screen through the doorway, hands frozen on top of his tingling scalp. The fucking clown got the title of Gotham City's most feared, while all he got was the dull reminder of "Gotham University's former professor?" What was he, yesterday's Halloween decoration? What a load of bull.

Jonathan Crane muttered under his breath and continued the angry scrubbing of his hair, glaring at the foam in the mirror. Absolute bull.

He hadn't planned on escaping so soon. The breakout had been Harvey's idea, his plan, his execution. The others were involved in some way - one might call it a group effort - and all Jonathan had done was slipped out behind the others, using one of his makeshift toxin capsules to terrify the guards so they could make a clean getaway. They had all scattered after breaching the gate. Jonathan had no idea where they'd gone, and quite frankly, he didn't care. They'd provided him a means of escape and that was all that mattered.

Roaming the town in nothing but his quite-noticeable Arkham scrubs, his first order of business was to change. That came in the form of a sleeping homeless man on the sidewalk, off of which Jonathan had stolen his coat and his scruffy hat. He was far too recognizable a character to stay hidden for long. Jonathan realized this when a small group of young people waved frantically at him from an alleyway. 

"Hey! Hey, Crane! Professor Crane!"

He scowled. Odd as it may sound, there were small groups of people all over Gotham that not only formed fan clubs of their favorite most wanted, but actually idolized them. The explosion of social media gave way to many younger folk creating the "fandoms" as they were called, each one dedicated to their favorite villain. Jonathan was one of the few who hated this rise of kinship, as many others enjoyed the attention, and even had fun contacting various members of the blogs and websites and giving them tasks to complete or errands to run, with the teasing intent of a reward should they succeed. So many of them rose to the occasion, resulting in a handful being caught and jailed, that the other criminals began to keep a sharp watch for their fans, in case they ever needed someone to do a dirty favor. 

The Joker reveled in his fan club. Entire blogs were dedicated to arguing whether or not it was wise to idolize such insane minds as the Joker's, while other blogs were created solely to defend him. It was such a batshit crazy mess that Jonathan gave up his internet privileges in the rec room from sheer frustration. He knew he had one, thanks to Harley's constant updating from the websites of various fans, but Jonathan had no interest in taking advantage of that. Edward had pointed out that it would be useful if he ever needed free test subjects, but Jonathan refused. Any test subject willing to feel fear would likely muddle his experiments; they'd be quicker to feel excited or aroused from their own mirth.

The group in the alley was most definitely part of this online Scarecrow fan club. One had his face painted up with stitches, and another sported a hoodie with a crudely-drawn crow on the front. Crane wanted nothing more than to use his last fear capsule to make them regret idolizing him. He wasn't a martyr or a celebrity and he had no desire to be; his was a mission of revenge and science. From what he heard, not many of his "fans" seemed to understand that. 

Fighting every fiber in his being to keep walking, Jonathan veered off the sidewalk and crossed the street quickly. He had no time to waste tonight. Sirens were screaming in the distance, and by this point, Gotham PD knew every one of his personal hiding spots - he'd be willing to bet he had the Bat to thank for that. Jonathan needed a hideout, fast. And he needed supplies he couldn't garner on his own.

"It's really him," they were whispering now, barely able to contain their excitement. It made a black ball of hate well up in his chest. "It's really Crane. Oh my god."

"Good evening, children," Jonathan greeted them coldly. One of the female fans giggled and hid her mouth behind her hands. He chose to ignore all of them, focusing instead on the one who seemed to be in charge, he who bore the crow jacket. "How dangerous of you to be out at this time. Haven't you heard of the incident downtown?"

"Of course! That's why we're out, Professor! Or, do you prefer Scarecrow? Ah, shit, I never thought I'd meet you for real!" said the youth with a wide grin.

Jonathan pictured his fist colliding with his face, imagining the boy's teeth flying out, imagining the boy huddled at his feet with terror in his eyes to be betrayed by the one he idolized. But he steeled himself. He needed them. He was a master of psychology and had already figured out how to play their emotions, how to make them dance, how to play to their insecurities.

"Scarecrow will do," he responded coolly. He looked down his nose at them. "Were you perhaps hoping to get a glimpse of myself, or the others?" They all hastily agreed. Jonathan chuckled. "Then it truly is your lucky day, for I have something for you."

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the toxin capsule. The teens' eyes lit up. If he knew one thing from Harley's constant babble, it's that the members of Jonathan Crane's fans had an itch to get high on his toxin. It was this more than anything that infuriated him so. His fear toxin, his prized invention, the means to his power and status in Gotham, reduced to a cheap goal in the minds of the city's youth. Yearned for a quick high. Desired if only to satisfy their obsessive compulsion with the object of their reverence.

"What do you want us to do, Scarecrow?" asked another in a hushed voice. They had already accepted whatever it was Jonathan would ask of them, be it terrible or simple, and that in itself gave him a tickle of smug pride. 

"I require a few things from the shop," he nodded across the street to a 24/7 outlet. He pinched the capsule between two fingers and dangled it like a mouse in front of a cat, giving it the air of delicacy and value. "Go and get them for me. Buy them. Do not steal. I'm in a bit of a hurry, and I don't need the extra attention. Do this for me, children, and this small piece of ecstasy is yours."

They didn't need a second word. They quickly asked him for a list and scribbled it hastily on a scrap of paper. Then the group was off. Jonathan leaned against the wall and kept his hands in the pocket of the smelly overcoat. Those pathetic, adoring fans were good for something, at least.

It was a short wait before they returned, handing him bags and looking eager for his approval. With a smile, Jonathan held up the capsule in his palm as if to give it to them. And then, as the ring leader reached for it, Jonathan closed his fist and pierced the capsule with his fingernails.

The gasps and yelps were of delight, not terror, and they all clamored around to be the first to experience it, inhaling deeply. Jonathan blew a cloud their way and ducked around them, knocking one to the ground. His head hit with a crack, and he groaned. Jonathan quickly tore the jacket from his body, replacing the hobo's trench coat, and abandoned the hat for one of the group's knit hats. 

"Disgusting," he growled as the effects took hold of them. Some were weeping, others shaking and swiping at the air, crying out. Before leaving, he was sure to pocket all their loose cash. Then he abandoned them in the alley and hurried off into the night. 

The motel wasn't far, and the clerk at the desk seemed unfazed at the handful of crumpled cash, tossing him a key without blinking. They probably got stranger guests on the daily.

Coughing, Jonathan peeled off the gloves and discarded of them in the waste basket. Then he stumbled, half blind, to the shower. He turned the water on full blast and shed his inmate scrubs. Those, he decided, he would leave in one of the barrels of fire around back. He let the hot water scald his skin as he waited impatiently for the bleach to set.

Normally Jonathan hated cosmetics. They served little purpose aside from fulfilling societal norms. Tonight, however, he was worried about his escape. Everyone would be looking for him, including the Bat, and he was not ready to make a third return to Arkham this month. Enough was enough. He had to lay low longer than a week. 

His thin, bony figure cut a distinct shape in a crowd, there was nothing he could do about that. But he could change his clothing, his mannerisms... and his hair. He'd never dyed his hair before, seeing no need for it. He wasn't even going for a different color; Jonathan had opted for a simple bleaching.

After the allotted time, kept track of by means of the television prattling on in the background, Jonathan dunked his head into the hot spray and began washing. He watched the foamy sludge evaporate down the drain, taking with it his natural brown.

By the time he was done, Jonathan felt a pang in his chest at viewing his reflection. He was now stark blond, almost white, down to his roots. He'd even rubbed some into his eyebrows. Combined with his pale skin and sunken eyes, he looked positively sickly. He'd have to ditch his glasses for a while, but it was doable. He'd gone for long periods of time without them when it was necessary. A killer headache was soon to haunt him, but it would be worth it.

He smacked his lips and practiced a few different accents. Jonathan was by no means a master of hiding his voice. The only thing he knew how to do for certain was to mask his crisp Southern lilt with a flat Northern accent. But after a few tries, he managed to get a casual British tone out. Good thing he spent so much time with Tetch in Arkham.

Jervis Tetch... who knew where he was now. He'd broken out of Arkham nearly a month before, and nobody had heard of him since. No news, no crimes, no word to his pals still behind bars. His silence was worrying to some, giving rise to rumors, none of which Jonathan believed. He knew Jervis. The poor thing was probably getting his bearings and gathering supplies. After so long under scrutiny by the concerned doctors, Tetch had expressed to Jonathan the desire to simply be on his own, perhaps bake a little, catch up on his reading. 

A smile twitched at the corner of Jonathan's mouth. Despite everything, he missed the company of the cheerful Hatter. His love of literature and the mind was enough to keep a steady conversation between himself and Crane for hours on end. There was something in that goofy-looking smile that warmed a part of Jonathan's heart.

Jonathan sucked in a deep breath and picked up a pair of scissors from the sink. He took a handful of now-blond locks in a hand, and began to snip. His hair had gotten long, staying in Arkham and refusing every haircut offered to him. At first he thought he'd like the different length, but soon found it to be a burden that got caught in his glasses, gave him a disadvantage in a fight, and shed everywhere as though he were a dying cat. 

His head feeling lighter, Jonathan turned his head side to side. It was a terrible job, of course. But his hair was now chin-length, sliced jaggedly without care, creating odd layers one could argue were intentional. He'd seen how people styled their hair these days. Atrocious. 

Jonathan gathered up the fallen hair and wrapped it in his Arkham shirt. It was time for change. 

He dressed and went about making the room look used, the bed slept in, things out of place. He made it look like someone had been here for weeks. Jonathan turned the TV volume up and left his keys on the dresser. He locked the door from the inside, and then, with a bag of the remaining supplies tucked under his arm, crept out the window into the alley beyond.

It didn't take long for Jonathan to light a fire in a barrel that had clearly seen use in recent days. He dropped his Arkham uniform in with delight, watching it sizzle and char before he departed.

Now to find somewhere to lay low. Jonathan let himself hunch a bit, forcing himself to take shorter strides than normal. He squinted at the night ahead, not daring to pull his glasses from the case in the bag, not wanting to give anyone a chance to recognize him.

He hesitated walking past a diner that boasted OPEN ALL NIGHT! on a bright neon sign. His stomach clenched weakly. Human delays, as he called such things as sleeping, eating, and tending to one's physical health, were such an irritating waste of time. But skipping dinner to concoct toxin capsules was taking its toll on him, and Jonathan pushed the door open and stepped in. 

"Evening!" a waiter greeted him behind the counter as Jonathan took a seat on one of the stools. "Chilly out there, eh? What can I get you?"

"Just a cup of coffee," Jonathan replied, concentrating on his vowels to keep the accent in place.

The waiter blinked in surprise. "Not from around here, are you?" he asked, nodding, sliding a stained mug full of steaming coffee his way.

"Not... really," said Jonathan, warming his hands on the mug. "I'm visiting for the uni," he added, recalling what it was Jervis often called college.

"The what?"

Jonathan put on a light laugh. "College, I mean!"

"Oh!" the waiter laughed also, turning to head to the kitchen. "Of course, of course. Gotham has a wonderful university! Plenty of great degrees you can get there!"

"I bet," Jonathan muttered under his breath.

"Need anything?" called another waiter, stepping behind the counter. 

Jonathan shrugged. "I'm feeling peckish, but I'm not sure what I want yet." He picked up a menu and offered what he hoped was a kind smile. "I'll let you know, aye?"

The waiter nodded and disappeared. Jonathan let out a whoosh of air. His tongue felt funny putting the accent on, but so far nobody had batted an eye at him. So far so good. Not even Batman would come looking for him out in the open. The Scarecrow usually remained in the shadows, not in a brightly-lit diner at eight o'clock at night.

The door opened and shut behind him. In hindsight, Jonathan wasn't entirely sure what happened. He heard a faint gasp and a pattering of shoes across the floor, but hadn't looked up from the menu until someone sat down on the stool next to him with a loud thump. 

A voice chirped, "New to Gotham, love?"

Jonathan turned, but the only word he got out was, "Well..."

Something dark and heavy wrapped around his head. He flailed, fell off the stool, heard a cackle above him, and felt a hand press a damp cloth onto his mouth. Jonathan let out a roar of anger, but recognized the smell and immediately wished he hadn't. The world became hazy. His breathing slowed. He felt himself slipping into a deep sleep.

-

A swirl of colors flashed across his vision. Jonathan's eyelids fluttered. He felt so heavy. He was cold. Where was he?

A splashing of water. Water. He was sitting in a bathtub. Someone was nearby, humming softly. He knew that song. Why was his head so heavy?

"Now, now," said a soothing voice. A slick hand rubbed its way up and down his back... his bare back. He was naked. The revelation made Jonathan jerk away from the hand, a pang of uncertainty hitting him. 

He tried to talk, to speak, but his tongue felt twice the size it normally was and twice as heavy. He only managed a sluggish noise of, "Nnn... no... whh... m' cl'thesss..."

"Hush, now, love," came the voice again. Jonathan was aware of the hands moving up and down his body, washing him gently. "No need to fret! You're perfectly safe here."

And all at once, Jonathan knew what was going on. The chloroform had worn off, but his head still felt heavy, and he knew why - there was a hairband perched atop his head, clinging to his bleached locks. A faint buzzing noise filled his mind, and he found it impossible to move. Nonetheless, his sight, while blurry, was his; he was sitting, hunched over and knees up, in a bathtub full of steaming hot water. Bubbles floated along the surface. Water trickled down his arms and chest from behind as the hands worked their way across his shoulders, aided by a rough cloth.

"...Jher... Jerf..." he managed to gasp. There was a lump in his throat, and a gap between the speech receptors in his brain and his vocal chords. But he knew. He knew.

A figure slid into view. Stout hands encased in latex gloves dipped the cloth into the water before going to work on his neck and chest. Jonathan forced his eyes to follow the hands up the arm, up, up, to where the sleeves of a turquoise button-down lay rolled up above the elbows. To where a brightly colored apron was wrapped around the body of his kidnapper. A bright grin, a large overbite. Round, blue eyes, wide in excitement. The hat...

"Alice, darling," the Mad Hatter cooed, cupping Jonathan's chin in a hand. "It's so good to see you again."

Jonathan's mouth moved soundlessly. The harder he struggled, the weaker he felt, until his eyes unfocused and he felt himself slipping away again. 

"Rest now, Alice," said the voice that existed both outside and inside his head now. "You've been through such an ordeal. Rolling around in the Queen's garden. Tut, tut, you silly girl, you've gone and gotten yourself filthy! No more chasing pigs. It's almost time for tea."

Jonathan's head lolled forward onto his chest, static in his thoughts.

-

When he came to, Jonathan was curled up on a pile of pillows and blankets, not quite a bed, but comfortable nonetheless. He felt odd. His body felt too light, and his limbs felt too numb. He sat up. He wasn't sure why. He didn't want to move just yet. He wanted to get a better look at his surroundings, to gather his wits about him.

Instead, he shuffled his feet together and raised his head. His jaw dropped. "Hello?" The word pulled itself from his throat in a dull tone very unlike his normal voice. But his put-on British accent was still present. Jonathan was sure he wasn't doing this on purpose...

Footsteps. Emerging from a hallway, pulling a set of white gloves onto his hands, Jervis Tetch grinned at his captive. 

"Alice! You're finally awake!" he called across the room. "Thank you for calling me! Now we can have our tea!"

He practically skipped across the room, shoes shining in the fluorescent lights, headed to a closed door. Jervis opened it and strode off without a pause, calling over his shoulder, "You know your lines, I trust?"

Jonathan's throat seized up. "Yes, Mister Hatter," he heard himself say.

"Excellent, excellent!" echoed the delighted voice from down the hall.

Jonathan couldn't believe this. He tried briefly to move, but once he found he couldn't, he relinquished control to the band on his head. There would be no use struggling. It might make him black out again. 

He stared at himself, unable to recognize his own body. His clothes were gone. Instead, he was wearing a fancy, dark blue dress with puffy shoulders and lace dancing up and down the front. Over top the dress was a white apron. To Jonathan, it looked hand-made, the white satin and lace being useless for practical wear. His gangly legs were hugged to the thigh by white stockings, his feet encased in shiny black shoes. 

One eye twitched. Oh, no.

"Are you coming, Alice?" shouted the Mad Hatter.

"Of course!" was the reply Jonathan gave him. Helpless, he rose to his feet and followed the other's voice down the hallway. He walked with a foreign bounce to his step, hands clasped together at his front. He was not smiling, but instead, felt he was wearing an expression of wonderment. 

Ahead of him was a set of curtains. Jonathan reached out and parted the drapes, ducking beneath them, and coming out into a makeshift dining hall. He didn't recognize the place beneath the illusion, but he most definitely recognized all the signs of alteration: the curtains hanging from the walls, the table and chairs mismatched and arranged carefully; tablecloths and plates atop the table, numerous plates of steaming food and drink set before them. At the head of the table sat Jervis Tetch, elbows resting on the table and fingers tented together.

"Welcome, Alice!" he gushed, gesturing wide to the room. "Welcome back to Wonderland!"

Watching from a dissociative state, Jonathan clasped his hands together and bounced on the balls of his feet. "What a delightful splendor!" he gasped, British accent tumbling forth much easier now that he wasn't in control of his speech patterns. 

Jervis waved him over. "Come, my dear! Sit down, have a cup of tea!"

Jonathan sauntered over to the table and settled into the chair next to Jervis at the head. "Is there room now?" his voice said, and he had a feeling that Jervis had scripted this entire meeting out, and was feeding him the lines mentally. True, each time he spoke, Jonathan felt a tingle between his ears where the band met his skin. "I thought there was no room for me!"

Jervis took one of his hands, rubbing a gloved thumb over his lanky fingers. "My dear, there is always room for you," he sighed lovingly. "Always and forever. It's simply so good to see you again. I had thought you were never coming back."

Jonathan struggled to regain control of something, anything, his movement, his words, his expression. He fell flat, only managing to twitch an arm as though electrocuted. 

The Hatter dropped his hand. "Anyway, my darling, you must be famished!" He waved an arm over the table, and Jonathan's head turned. He had to admit, he'd have widened his eyes on his own if the mind control hadn't gotten to his muscles first. The table was piled near and far with plates and platters of cooked meat, chicken, and pork, bowls full of greens and baskets of bread. Inwardly impressed, Jonathan marveled at the fact that Jervis could have very well cooked and baked all he saw before him. It wasn't impossible. He knew from experience that Tetch was an outstanding cook when he focused on it. 

"Do dig in!" Jervis went on, grinning widely. 

His stomach growled loudly, not out of scripted control, but out of sheer yearning for the feast before him. Jonathan gave up all control, settling back into his mind while his hands outstretched toward the food. He spoke with unabashed happiness: "Oh, thank you, Mister Mad Hatter! Everything looks positively scrumptious!"

He wasn't able to actually move his eyes, but when his vision happened that way, Jonathan was able to gauge where Jervis was. He sat and watched Jonathan eat, smiling happily, eyes wide and glassy. Jervis touched nothing himself, letting his plate sit empty before him. Warily, Jonathan wondered exactly why. Was the food laced with something? Possibly, but not likely. Tetch's specialties lay in the brain and nervous system, not in chemicals and outward concoctions. 

Jonathan had to admit, for all the bizarre roleplaying going on, he was more than happy to have a full meal in him. With an unusual amount of dainty manners, he ate his fill, and thanked Mr. Mad Hatter once more for the food once he was finished.

Jervis jumped to his feet. "Time for tea!" he called, producing a small bell and ringing it.

From the back of the room came five or more unknown people, dressed as players in Tetch's Wonderland, silent and swift. Jonathan thought he recognized one of the waiters from the diner beneath the ears of a Cheshire cat. They cleared the table with ease and replaced it with teacups of all sizes and colors. Hot pots of tea were placed near them, along with bowls of sugar and cups of cream. Once things were set up, the enslaved crew disappeared back to where they had come.

Jervis clapped his hands in delight and began pouring them cups. Deciding this was a good enough time to pause, Jonathan tensed, focusing his mind on his own senses. Food and shelter was one thing, but he wanted to pause Tetch before he got too lost in his own fantasy. He knew how it went with Jervis's victims.

"M... Mister Hatter, everything has b-been... so lovely," he said, jaw clenching to stop the stream of words. "Whatever c-can... I do... t-to... to..."

Jervis waited, watching him with hard eyes, his posture stiff. He knew Jonathan was fighting. In his mind, Jonathan heard the buzzing get louder, felt his limbs go numb and regain feeling, a fight betwixt the two minds over his body. 

"...To repay me?" the Hatter finished for him, quietly, patiently. 

"To... rep-..." Jonathan shut his eyes tight, his fists clenching. The control that had been over his limbs was fading, going instead to his words, to force him to play along. But Jonathan was done playing. He had to speak with Jervis, really speak with him. He succeeded in cutting off the last few words, groaning and turning his head to one side. 

Jervis set his teacup down and stood. Arms behind his back, he began to pace to and fro behind Jonathan's chair. Jonathan's head exploded with whispering and commands, vibrations that made his vision swim. The room tilted violently to one side. 

"Alice," said Jervis with a hint of danger to his voice. "You're being very rude. Very, very rude indeed. You know better not to speak out of turn. The Queen will have your head."

Jonathan trembled. If he could only shake his head hard enough to dislodge the hairband from his head... "...'M... so sorry... Hatter," he choked out. "I... not myself... just... A-Arkham..."

This was the only word of his own he managed to get out before Jervis put two hands on the arms of his chair and spun him around violently. His hands gripped Jonathan's cheeks and forced him to meet Jervis's gaze. His eyes blazed with anger, with frustration and a desperation to keep up the charade, pleading with Jonathan to please, please stay in his wonderland with him. 

"Alice," whispered Jervis, and Jonathan felt a rush of emotion flood his head, emotion that was not his own. His heart began to pound, and his gut turned icy despite the warm meal in his belly. "My dear, sweet Alice. There is no 'Arkham.' There is only Wonderland. Here. Here, where you belong. With me! Just the two of us. You can have whatever you want, Alice, whatever it is you desire! You cannot leave, not again. I won't ALLOW IT!"

With a roar, Jervis threw Jonathan from the chair. He hit the cold floor - cement? - hard and gasped as pain shot up his arm. He rolled over in time to see Jervis advancing on him, hands in fists, face reddening. However, luck was on Jonathan's side, as the hairband had slipped slightly when he struck the floor. He struggled to pull himself away, coughing. The buzzing had faded. 

"J... Jervis," he managed to gasp, his voice dropping, although still bearing an accent identical to his colleague's. "It... me... It's me... You know... me..."

Jervis stepped over him and knelt, pinning Jonathan to the floor with a knee dug painfully into either hip. "Of course I know you," he whispered in reply. "You're my Alice. Sure, you... you've gotten taller since I last saw you, and... and you look oh, so pale, my dear, so pale indeed!"

He ran a gloved hand over Jonathan's sallow cheek. A shiver ran down Jonathan's spine. 

"...Crane..." he managed, hoarsely, desperately.

Jervis paused, watching him, stroking his cheek fondly. He tilted his head to one side, his top hat blocking out the light behind him and throwing his face in shadow. 

"I suppose," he teased with a grin, "you do look rather like a crane. Like a scarecrow, I do say."

A ray of hope gave Jonathan the strength to sit up slightly. "Yes," he agreed. "Scarecrow."

Jervis then leaned down and gently pressed the tip of his oversized nose to the end of Jonathan's thin, crooked one. He nuzzled him and giggled. 

"Not tonight," he hissed.

Before Jonathan could react, Jervis reached up and pressed the hairband hard to his head. His eyes shutting, Jonathan stiffened as the whispering returned, maddening his senses, making it impossible to think. His head filled with a buzzing like angry hornets. His jaw went slack, and his voice box stopped working.

Jervis was grinning above him. The world was hazy and blurred. "There you are, my boy," he sighed happily, getting to his feet. "Now. I believe we still have tea to finish. It wouldn't be polite to leave it all here, would it?"

He returned to the table. Jonathan felt like he was watching from outside his body as he stood, as steady as can be, and followed Jervis to the table. The Hatter was waiting for him, eyes watching him hungrily. He did not sit back down. Instead, he waited until Jonathan was by his side, before reaching out and taking Jonathan's hand in his own.

No, no, no, Jonathan shouted within his own mind. Jervis stepped up onto the chair and then onto the table. His own leg lifted to follow suit. No! Jervis, no! Not like this!

Dizzily he recalled earlier times, Arkham incarceration, doubling up in rooms due to overcrowding. The teasing, the conversation, the late nights sitting up in whispered conversation about anything and everything. Books, science, experiments, secrets. The escalation. Tetch sneaking into his bunk late one night. How Jonathan had feigned disinterest, grinning all the while, how Jervis had muttered promises of terror and uncertainty. 

He hadn't minded. Neither of them had. Jervis had been hesitant about laying with another man, but Jonathan had opened within him a curiosity, a feeling of reassurance that he could explore without fear of ridicule. Jonathan never cared about the gender of a lover. He classified himself as mostly asexual. Jervis had been so nervous, so anxious. Jonathan soothed his nerves, told him it was time for change. No more Alices. 

No more Alices.

He was laying on top of the table, dangerously close to the teacups and saucers. Jervis was sitting on top of him, pressing wet kisses into his neck. His own eyes were locked on the ceiling above, Jervis's influence so strong in his mind he could barely blink. His heart was pounding. He could feel a shifting, hear Jervis whimper slightly as he rubbed his arousal against the inside of Jonathan's thigh.

Jervis, he thought as loudly as he could, trying to get his thought above the cacophony of noise in his mind. Jervis, snap out of it. You know me. I know you. You know I'm not Alice. Listen to me!

"No!" Jervis shouted aloud, slamming a fist onto the table near Jonathan's head. He glared down at him, eyes suddenly brimming with tears. "I shan't listen, there isn't a thing to listen to! I know how you feel about me, Alice, and you can't hide it from me! I know!"

A hand reached down between his legs and roughly grabbed him, causing Jonathan's body to jerk. It hadn't occurred to him that he was not wearing undergarments. Shit. He trembled, breath quickening as Jervis's gloved hand rubbed his cock up and down.

Jervis gave him a shaky smile. "I know," he repeated, almost frantic. "I know you enjoy this. You enjoy me."

Jonathan was trembling. Never in a million years would he admit it, but sometimes, the way Jervis just... went off... went completely manic from time to time and became an unpredictable time bomb of emotion... it terrified him. Nothing short of the Batman was able to scare him so, but being trapped in his own mind this way, experiencing everything through a haze of sleep paralysis, forced as a puppet to Jervis's will... 

A moan slipped from him. Jervis paused. He hadn't caused the noise, and he knew it. He cackled in delight, and his hand released Jonathan's quivering member.

"You like me, Alice," he singsonged. "My sweet, sweet Alice."

Jervis leaned down and closed his mouth over Jonathan's. The latter's eyes fluttered shut, and he whined into the kiss. Jervis was giving him back some control, but not all of it. He was too distracted, too engrossed. Hands clutched at Jonathan's shoulders, scrabbling for a hold down his chest, as though he was unsure where he wanted to rest them. 

Jervis broke the kiss, panting, and sat back, fingers fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. "You have something to say," he gasped. "Then say it. But you won't move from this table, oh no. Stay right here. Have your head, if that's what you want. Keep it. But your hands, your hands, your hands are mine. As is the rest of you."

Abruptly, Jonathan blinked and gasped, feeling as though he was partway breaking from a dream. "Jervis!" he cried, finally in control of his own voice at last. "Why are you doing this?"

Jervis kicked his pants off. They sailed away over the side of the table, leaving their owner in naught but his socks and shoes, his top half still fully clothed. Jervis pressed himself to Jonathan's body, moaning in delight as he did so. Jonathan also couldn't help the gasp that escaped him.

"Because I am a gentleman," was Jervis's pouty reply. It was a funny thing to hear such an indignant phrase while the man on top of him was grinding his cock hard against Jonathan's crotch. "I know you want this, dearest Alice, but I must hear you say it. I shan't be like those barbarians, I won't be what they think of me!"

Jonathan paused, unable to move his arms, wrists pressed to the tabletop on either side of his head. He blinked, brows furrowing in confusion. "What do they think of you?" he asked, his fascination with Jervis's never-ending personal fears getting the better of him.

Jervis looked away, clinging to the front of Jonathan's dress. "I don't... I'm not a rapist," he whimpered. "And I don't do it to... to children. I don't!"

Jonathan Crane understood now. Jervis wanted him to consent. He wanted Jonathan to agree so Jervis could prove to himself that he was nothing like the rumors floating around Gotham City's gossip papers. Crane had seen some of those. He personally found their content to be hilarious and a good indication of what it was the citizens feared of their bad guys. But Jervis took it hard. He took everything hard.

"I know," he said softly, no longer afraid. Since he couldn't move his hands to comfort the trembling man, Jonathan tilted his head down and brushed his chin against the top of Jervis's hat. "I know. You shouldn't listen to them."

"I can't help it! It's what everyone thinks of me!" Jervis wailed, his control of Jonathan slipping in the moment. Jonathan regained enough mobility to sit up partway. Jervis sat back on his heels and covered his face with both hands. "Everyone thinks it! Even if they're not saying it! They whisper, they talk about me when I'm not there, that's all they think of me! It's because of the rumors! Mr. Carroll did not harbor an interest in children, and even if he did, I am nothing like him, you hear me!"

Jonathan wrapped his arms around Jervis, shushing him quietly. He knew Jervis well enough that he knew simply talking to him wouldn't work. Jervis was someone who learned by doing, who experimented hands on. Nothing was ever theoretical with him. He wouldn't believe anyone who just told him. Jervis had to believe it himself. And Jonathan had a feeling that he wasn't going to escape from this mad roleplay unscathed, not until Jervis was satisfied. He had to satisfy him. Play the part, calm Jervis down.

So he leaned his head forward as far as he could manage, and whispered into the Hatter's ear, "Prove it."

Jervis responded by dropping his hands and pressing his lips to Jonathan's once more. Jonathan reciprocated, closing his eyes and raking his fingers across the hatter's shoulders. He raised his hips and pushed against Jervis's, rubbing their erections together.

That was all Jervis needed. His control of Jonathan surged, and Jonathan fell back, hands falling to their spots by his head once more. He grunted in frustration, but didn't fight back as Jervis went to town on his face, sprinkling kisses all along his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. 

Jonathan hoped Jervis would undress him. He wasn't fond of being naked as sin, but it may be better than wearing the frilly dress. Unfortunately for him, Jervis made no movement to remove it, only brushing the skirts up higher to give him better access to Jonathan's body.

"You're better than what they say about you," Jonathan mumbled, guts clenching when he felt Jervis's warm mouth suckle along his inner thigh. "You know who you are better than they do. They're ignorant. They assume knowledge so they feel superior to those they deem freaks."

Jervis made a noise that was somewhere between a sigh and a whine. "Alice, my dear," he breathed. "You are far too chatty tonight."

Jonathan felt his throat clam up. Great. He was trying to help him, and this was the thanks he got?

Unable to talk, Jonathan could only moan and hiss as Jervis worked his mouth along his thighs, spreading his legs wide enough that he could fit his head between Jonathan's legs without upsetting his hat. Jonathan gasped, back arching, as Jervis closed his mouth around his quivering entrance. 

Oh, fuck... Jonathan shut his eyes and tried to move his legs wider. He had to admit, not even he would have thought Jervis was quite so talented with his tongue as he was. He was always surprised, and now was no exception. Jervis worked his tongue around the taut skin of his ass, poking in and around, exploratory. He moved up, grazing his teeth against Jonathan's balls, nipping the skin. Each near-bite made a jolt go up Jonathan's spine. God, he forgot what a tease Jervis was.

Finally Jervis sat up, out of breath, and began pulling off his gloves, one finger at a time. "You're always so delicious," he hummed. "Perhaps it's all those sweets. Perhaps it's the tea. Or perhaps it's just you. I don't think I'll ever tire of the taste of your skin."

He flung his gloves aside with gusto. Jonathan's legs were shaking, and he had the urge to goad Jervis on, taunt him into action, make him do more. As it was, he couldn't open his mouth, so only glared at Jervis with frazzled eyes. Jervis sensed his desire and grinned.

"Ah, there's that want," he said. "I knew you wanted me, Alice. My dear Alice. Oh!"

He turned and picked up a nearby teapot. There was a wicked look in his eyes that gave Jonathan an intense need to be in control of his hands. 

"It looks as though we've still got tea left! Splendid!" Jervis shifted and raised his arm high. "There's always time for more tea."

A dark stream poured forth from the teapot. Jonathan was unable to scream when the hot liquid hit his sensitive skin, dripping down, soaking the skirts and table beneath him. 

"Much better," Jervis purred. He disappeared from view again. Jonathan's back arched as Jervis's tongue came into contact with his dick, licking the length up and down. A strangled noise escaped Jonathan's throat, but he still couldn't yell. Jervis teased him, licking and sucking him, one hand sliding up the dress to pinch his nipples hard, the other hand lightly tracing a circle around his entrance. 

This was somehow worse than being forced to play the part of Alice. Jonathan strained against the mind control. He had to move, he had to have release. It was driving him mad that he could do nothing while Jervis had all the control, could use him how he liked. He needed to do something!

"Patience, my dear," Jervis replied to his thoughts, sitting back and dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. "All good things come to those who ask politely."

Jonathan focused all his frustration into a single, angry thought: Please!

"There, now," said the Hatter, placing both hands beneath Jonathan's hips. He bent Jonathan's lanky legs upward, toes pointed toward the ceiling. "That wasn't so hard, was it, Alice?"

Jonathan closed his eyes again, a faint whine escaping him as he anticipated what was to come. He never regretted any of the times he ended up sleeping with Jervis if only for this one fact: Jervis Tetch was far more... gifted... than many others he'd spied in the showers at Arkham. He hadn't believed it at first. Who would? He thought it had been the inmates' fear for Jervis's technology and reputation that earned him such respect while showering. Certainly not his girth. Certainly not his disproportionate length.

Of course, it fit him in an odd sort of way. Nothing about Jervis was proportionate.

And god, once he had a taste, Jonathan was spoiled. Never again would he be satisfied with anyone or anything boasting "average" or "above average." The only thing he craved was the utter intensity Jervis made him feel. The way he filled Jonathan completely, from front to back, more snug inside him than a hand forced into a small glove. It always startled him, and he hated how much he loved it.

And Jervis knew he loved it. He leered at the professor with a nasty glimmer in his eyes, rubbing the tip of his cock against Jonathan's entrance until the other was jerking with the conscious desire to move back. Once he was certain there was nothing else occupying Jonathan's thoughts but the idea of his body flush to Jervis's, the Hatter gripped Jonathan's hips tightly and began to push into him.

He'd barely given Jonathan any preparation. The thought infuriated and excited him. If only Jervis would relent some control, he'd reciprocate. As it was, Jonathan could only inhale sharply, hands shaking against their puppeteer, while Jervis forced himself inside. He felt himself stretching, with a hot, searing pain the further Jervis went. Jonathan screamed silently in alarm. He was already in, but seemed determined to nestle as deep within Jonathan as he possibly could.

Jervis moaned, giving Jonathan's hips an unceremonious yank, slamming their bodies together. Tears blurred Jonathan's vision. Jervis had never tried to bury himself so deep before, and it hurt, it hurt. He hadn't quite managed to sheath himself to the hilt, but god damn was he close. 

"You and I, Alice," wheezed Jervis breathlessly. "We are together, at last! I won't ever let you go."

He began to pull out and push back in. Jonathan's eyes went wide, and the sheer shock of Jervis's actions broke some of his control. His jaw dropped in agonized silence, still unable to make any sound, but miming the screams so desperate to leave his throat. Too soon! Not yet! Despite his thoughts, Jervis made no move to be gentler. He pulled out and thrust in greedily, rubbing Jonathan raw in no time. Whether or not it bothered Jervis was a mystery, as his face was screwed up in concentration, his will torn between his actions and keeping Jonathan in his grip.

Jonathan had always wondered what he would do if Jervis ensnared him in one of his Wonderland delusions. He'd always figured he would have a calculated plan, something to say and do, a way to bring Jervis out of it calmly. This, however, was unlike anything he'd thought might happen. Jervis had always called him his March Hare, not his Alice. He was prepared for playing the role of his comrade, his second in command. He was not prepared for the complete lack of will in his own body.

Pleasure bloomed in his stomach. His eyes rolled back, tears pouring freely down his cheeks. Damn Jervis, he had noticed that Jonathan was in pain, and had taken it upon himself to correct those synapses in his brain. Instead of the raw agony of being fucked dry, it now felt smooth, pleasurable, wonderful. He called Jervis all sorts of names internally, cursing his knowledge of the human mind and its workings.

"This is not unfair!" Jervis gasped, leaning down over top his captive. He bent Jonathan's legs back as far as they would go, his knees nearly touching the table. Without pausing for breath, he began his relentless pounding once more. "You like it, and you know it! I don't want to hurt you, Alice, I only want to make you feel good! And feel good you shall! Oh, Alice! Alice, Alice, you feel so right, so good, like home!"

He buried his mouth in the crook of Jonathan's neck and bit him. Hard. Still unable to shout, Jonathan was forced to take it in full, pain blossoming up his neck. His eyelids fluttered and he felt in danger of passing out. In his new angle, Jervis's cock was slamming against his prostrate, and Jonathan was so close, so close now...

Together!

He heard the word and wasn't sure if Jervis had sent it through thoughts or spoken it aloud, but he understood its meaning. His body froze, all of his muscles seizing up save for his ragged breathing. He was on the brink of orgasm, leaning so far over the edge, held in place by Jervis's will alone. It must have taken everything Jervis had to stop Jonathan's body in its entirety. Dark spots danced on the edge of Jonathan's vision. Even his tears ceased their flow. He was trapped in a limbo of pleasure, experiencing the same rising feeling in his gut a hundred times over, reliving that one split second before release. Again. And again. And again.

He couldn't take it, and Jervis knew it. Soothing whispers filled his mind, easing his frantic nerves. The buzzing became a gentle melody of meditation, keeping his sanity in tact. His throat felt raw, although he'd not uttered a word in what felt like hours. Even so, Jervis let him slip, and Jonathan whimpered pitifully.

"Together!" The word came again from outside and inside all at once. 

The Hatter thrust deep within him once more, hitting that abused sweet spot just right. His swollen member throbbed. A rush of warmth flooded his insides, wet and slimy and as hot as fresh tea. As he did, his hold over Jonathan's body evaporated. His own automation came back too quickly and he felt his mind nearly blank with the overwhelming sensations. Suddenly his legs jerked, his hands were free, clamping down onto Jervis's shoulders tightly, and his voice was free, filling the room around them with desperate wails. He was only vaguely aware of coming, but he knew he came hard, his trembling cock squashed against the Hatter's stomach. 

The world swam. Jonathan couldn't stop the primal whimpers from blurting out of him. His eyes had trouble focusing, the tears of pain resuming their incessant flow. He clung to Jervis for a long time, shaking and spent, his abused hole clenching painfully around Jervis's dick. Jervis shuddered.

"Now, now," he murmured into Jonathan's ear. "Stop squeezing, my dear, or I fear we shall never stop. You can't take another round. I know your stamina," he giggled.

His tongue felt useless, but Jonathan still tried to spit a curse at him. 

"Relax," Jervis said. The buzzing returned if only for a moment, and he felt his body go blissfully slack. It was long enough for Jervis to slide free, red and wet, and then the whispers ceased. Jervis removed his hat and fanned himself with it, face red and blond hair stuck awkwardly to his sweaty forehead.

"I dare say we shall both need another bath after this," he quipped.

Wasting no time, Jonathan's hands shot up and scrabbled for the hairband. He tore it from his head and threw it as far as he could, over the table. It clattered to the floor in the distance. Jonathan relaxed, gasping to catch his breath. His head was pounding and he felt sick.

"...Hurt," he growled.

Jervis paused. He pouted. "It wasn't so bad," he insisted. "The aftereffects of my mind control will wear off in a few hours. As for the rest of you, well, you'll be staying here for a while, so you'll have the time to heal up nice and proper."

Jonathan squinted harshly at the Hatter, trying and failing to get up from his undignified spread eagle on the tabletop. "Am I?" he rasped.

"Oh, yes," said Jervis happily, sliding off the table, taking with him several cups, which shattered on the floor below. "Can't have you going anywhere in this state! You're bound to hurt yourself."

Jervis retrieved his pants and dressed. Jonathan managed to roll over and curl into a pained ball, knees tucked into his chest. He reached a hand back and groped blindly for the ties to the apron.

A hand patted his head. "Don't worry about that," said Jervis. "I've got everything set up for us. We should have a hot bath waiting, and dessert in the kitchen for when we're done."

Arms slid beneath Jonathan's body and pulled him from the table. Jonathan blinked in surprise. He knew he weighed very little, but he expected Jervis to stumble with Jonathan's awkward proportions. Had he practiced for this? The very thought was both touching and amusing.

Jervis carried him back to the room with the bathtub, which turned out was not very far away from the room in which Jonathan had awoke. He set Jonathan gently on a towel on the floor and undressed him slowly. His touch was no longer one of adept hunger, but was now full of tenderness and yearning. He made no move to tease or feel Jonathan's body, a fact for which he was grateful.

"I can stand," Jonathan grunted, struggling to his feet.

"Of course," said Jervis, watching as Jonathan slipped and fell into the waiting water with an ungraceful splash.

Jervis shed his outfit and joined him, humming quietly and whispering soft words of adoration. He washed Jonathan as before, and was cautious around his sensitive areas. Jonathan winced, but leaned back against Jervis's front.

"You knew it was me," Jonathan accused quietly. 

"Yes," said Jervis just as softly.

It was silent for a while.

"Then why?"

Jervis sighed. "It was perfect. I was having an awful night, simply awful. I'd heard about the breakout and heard your name. I had hoped to run into you somewhere... heaven knows why... the likelihood of that happening in this city is so small."

Jonathan stilled his hand and took the cloth from him. He turned slowly, laying sideways now against Jervis's body, and began returning the favor of washing him off. He wasn't a sentimental person, and wouldn't call himself a cuddler, but he was smart enough to know the psychological ramifications of starving oneself of physical contact after something so intense.

"So you went lookin' for me," he went on. Jervis nodded. Jonathan let out a small snort. "And to think this was all because I was desperate not to get caught again. Fuck's sake."

Jervis blinked down at him. "What do you mean?"

Jonathan raised an eyebrow and tapped his aching head. "This? I only redid my hair to lay low. It didn't even occur to me that it... would appeal to you."

To his surprise, Jervis laughed and waved it away. "Oh heavens, Jonny, no! This style looks positively dreadful on you. You look like the sickliest of patients with your hair so pale! And might I add, your fake British would be most insulting to a native stranger."

Jonathan's eyes widened. His expression twisted up into something quite nasty, and he roughly shoved the wash cloth into Jervis's laughing face before huddling down against his front, somewhere between insulted and embarrassed. 

"Oh don't pout, now!" Jervis chuckled, rubbing a hand up and down Jonathan's bony shoulder. "I mean that in the best way possible. It was clear you were trying!"

An unhappy growl was his response.

"Your chestnut suits you much better," Jervis soothed him, wrapping both short arms around the other. "Or perhaps a lovely mahogany. Something with red in it. This looks like you had an attempt to superglue loose straw onto your scalp. But that's just my opinion."

"Bless your heart," Jonathan grumbled, not struggling against the hug.

They stayed that way, snuggled together, in the hot water for a while before Jonathan spoke up.

"You haven't been caught yet."

"Yes?"

"You've been out for a month or so."

"True."

"Then, this place must be either well-guarded or well-hidden."

"Wonderland is always hidden to those who actively seek it."

A smile touched Jonathan's lips. He had missed Tetch's half-nonsense, half-sensible conversations. "Then perhaps I will stay here a little while."

"I would love that," sighed Jervis, kissing the top of his head. "I could use a bit of change around here. It was starting to get incredibly dull."

It was time for change.

"I've baked us the Queen's delicacy for dessert," Jervis added excitedly. "Strawberry tarts with whip. Your favorite, if I remember correctly."

Maybe change wasn't such a bad thing.


End file.
